You've Got A Friend In Me
by The Protagonist
Summary: A teenage boy seeks solace and refuge from a deteriorating home life.


"You're a little pansy, aren't ya?" My father stumbled into my room, drunk again. "Whatcha playin' with, Terrence?"  


"Dad, I'm not Terrence, I'm-"

Dad cut me off. "_Sure_ you aren't Terrence. Just like I ain't ya father. Dontcha even wanna know how you're a pansy? Yeah, playin' with your little _Barbies_? Gonna be a little queer bait are you?"  


I was hurt, but I had to suck the pain in. I think if I had ever even spoke something that might have surfaced, as a rebuttal would have been really bad. "Dad, I'm using the Barbies, which belong to Nora (my baby sister), as role-playing props. And-"  


"Oh, so now ya into all that fancy shmancy role-playing shit? What, are you going to be one of them physcho-olly-gists? Huh? 'Cause, I'm telling you, boy, you ain't gonna have none of that Ivy-League schoolin' if you're lucky, you'll go to the Community College or enlist. That's all I'm giving you! 'Cause you ain't my real son!"  


I couldn't take it. There is a limit on how much of this a person can take. As an aspiring counselor, I should know. "Dad, shut the heck up! I _am_ your son! I am! You knocked up Mom in High School and put her through so much stuff! She was going places until you raped her!"  


A tough, calloused, hand swept across my face. "Don't you say things you don't know nothing about! A gay guy screwed your mother and then she had you! You, a little bastard! A mistake!" Then the hand came on my face again and again. I tried to get away, but I couldn't.

"Mitch, what on earth are you doing to my baby?" My mother screamed as she ran into my room and snatched me away from Dad.

"Giving the little punk just what he needs. A good lesson. I told him about his real father, Frances."  


"He's lying, honey! He's lying!" This was directed to me from my mother.

"Yeah, well," I took a deep breath so that I'd feel braver. "I already know that Da-, I mean, Mitch isn't my father. But there are many times that I don't believe that you're my mother. I feel bad for Nora having to grow up in this hellhole. I hope, one day, Nora and I will become filthy rich and you will all burn in hell." And with that, I ducked my mother's grip, dodged the man I thought to be my father's strike, and I ran out of the door to my crappy room. I ran through the small, messy condominium house that we (Mitch, Mom, Nora, and I) lived in. I struggled with the lock on the door to get it open. I was so slow that Mitch almost caught up with me. _Almost_. Then, I dodged Mitch and ran out of the door and out of where I had spent most of my life. I had also left my mother and sister. Screw Mitch. Then I realized something. I had left Nora there. My baby sister. The one I was supposed to protect. What had I done?

It's a funny thing when you realize that you might have just done something you that you will regret. Especially running away. See, I have too much pride to turn back there. Even if it means leaving Nora and Mom. Sometimes you've got to do these things. I think Mitch or Dad, whatever I should call him, probably would have killed me anyway. Sometimes I don't have a backbone, even though I'd love one.

Stopping here on the street, I've run a long way from the condos; no one's noticed me as they usually do. I wonder if what Mitch said was true or a drunken lie. I guess I'll never know. But sometimes it's good to be blind to what is true. Isn't it?

I'm looking for solace on these gritty streets and all I see is woe and misery. And then I know where to go. I know where I can find a friend.

And once more, I run. I must be a funny sight, a young skinny teenager running through the streets of Lawndale. Everyone must think I'm crazy, but I know I'm not.

The solace I look for, I find at the door of an apartment, after running down a few streets and a few flights of stairs. (I have endurance, courtesy of Mitch) How strange that must sound! But I know I'm going to find him. I must.

Knocking on the door, I notice that the apartment is quite nice looking. It's peaceful. Then the door opens.

"Timothy O'Neil? What are you doing here? It's not a school day!" Mr. Quatziana, my English teacher chuckled at the sudden appearance of myself at his door.

"Yeah, I know, it's weird that I'm here and all. But- but I need help. I'm having some, er, problems at home." I know I can trust Mr. Q. I've known him since freshman year (since I'm in senior year of high school) and he's like another (?) father to me.

Concern spreads over Mr. Q's face. "Sure, come in, Tim, and tell me about it. I'll be glad to help sure you. You've got a friend in me." Mr. Q's concern turns into hidden concern and a weak smile. "Come on. Let's talk it over James Dean."

Notes: Okay, this is my little history ficlet for O'Neil. This is longer than my other little ficlets and it seems shorter to me. Oh well. Anyway, I guess those good people who read the little notes at the bottom of stories would be curious of the timeline. I'd say it would be about 1982 (making James Dean vintage) because in 2001, O'Neil was in his mid thirties (thirty five-ish) and that mean he would have been born in like, the late sixties and he'd be around sixteen in my story. And the thing with the teacher is just like he developed a close friendly relationship (not the gross kind) as I have, with his teacher. And also, the child abuse mentioned and displayed in this story is serious and should not be considered lightly. In no way was I making fun of or supporting child abuse. Child abuse is wrong and if anyone is experiencing that (or some other form of abuse) they should go to someone they trust. Another note, I hope that no one takes any offense to this story. Thanks.

Disclaimers: MTV, Noggin/The-N, and Viacom International own Daria. Actually, technically, I think those are all one and the same. Oh well. The characters and places I use in this fanfic belong to them, not me and I am writing this fanfic for personal amusement, definitely not profit.


End file.
